Zenith

royanrannedos @ 2009-05-27T09:33:00

2009-05-27T15:34:56Z

Well, I'd better update this thing. It's been a while, since I've had two kids, graduated from college, and moved twice. So, not a lot of time to update this thing.

So, I will leave you with one question about a spider: is it Itsy-Bitsy or Eensy-Weensy?

my haiku

2006-08-25T00:06:50Z

Haiku² for royanrannedos
we can finally stop calling it this has been assassinated
@

Created by Grahame

for those of you who are worried, assassinated comes from my book.

royanrannedos @ 2006-08-15T17:36:00

2006-08-15T23:37:20Z

Well, yesterday we found out that we're having a little girl! :?) We're thinking of naming her Rachelle Elise Anderson. I'm all for classic names in good combos, not much for naming girls after former ugly men presidents. Reagan? Come on.

Tell about yourself meme.

2006-08-11T20:02:45Z

I can't believe I'm actually posting one of these.

1. Name:
2. Age/Birthday:
3. Single or Taken:
4. Favorite Movie:
5. Favorite Song:
6. Favorite Band/Rapper/Artist:
7. Favorite Book/Comic Book:
8. Tattoos and/or Piercings:
9. Favorite TV Show:
10. Favorite Video Game/Board Game:
11. Do we know each other outside of Livejournal?
12. Would you give me a kidney?
13. Tell me one odd/interesting fact about you:
14. If you could change anything about your current life, would you?
15. Will you post this so I can fill it out for you?

royanrannedos @ 2006-08-07T08:11:00

2006-08-07T14:21:38Z

Well, folks, I just got back from Lake Powell, where I was swimming in the water supply of most of Nevada and Southern California. Lake Powell borders Utah and Arizona, and runs through beautiful red rock canyons normally unaccessible except by helicopter or long desert hike. "Conservationists" have been trying to drain it for years. Their solution to the water problem involves using pumps to take the salt out of the ocean. I say, pick your pollution: a beautiful lake that draws tourists and provides access to the natural cliff faces, or a big cloud of coal smog from the energy required to run your pump. Or, perhaps some nuclear waste. Wait...you can send that to Utah as well.

On a lighter note, Stef and I had a great time at Lake Powell. I almost made it up waterskiing for the first time, and I did get up on the wakeboard for about 10 seconds. The first day there, I rubbed sunscreen on my own back. This was a BAD IDEA. I repeat, BAD IDEA. By that evening, people were picking out shapes in the sunburn patterns that stretched between my shoulders, which looked like they'd been chewed on by ROUSes. "I think I see the bat signal!"

I also got to feel my baby kick for the first time! Stef grew quite a bit this week. We find out the gender of the baby on the 14th, and we can finally stop calling it...it.

This has been a nice vacation. Now I can handle a couple more weeks of summer before school starts again.

Boss quote of the day:

2006-07-18T20:21:53Z

"If you're going to ask for worker's comp, let's make it worth your while!" *smack!**air punch*

-My manager, joking about buping my chair.

royanrannedos @ 2006-07-16T03:19:00

2006-07-16T04:07:51Z

Because of the forest fires over all of the west, the sun looked like a giant red light setting behind the mountains. The whole valley is hazy, and is giving me a headache.

On the pregnancy front, Stef has muscle cramps around her sciatic nerve, meaning that her left leg is basically crippled with pain. I get to give massages and ice it down. I actually love taking care of her, most of the time. I grit my teeth and do the other times anyways, because I love her.

I'll see if the moon photographs better than the sun. It makes an eerie picture.

The Climate of Hell

2006-07-14T00:36:57Z

Houston, 2004

As I pulled into Houston, I quickly remarked that it had the climate of hell, or at least that of the human mouth. Midnight felt like getting out of a hot shower. I had driven three days down from Utah to work for Pinnacle Security, installing security systems after door-to-door salesmen sold them.

I shared an apartment with five other technicians, and Pinnacle took around $475/month from my paycheck for it. We figured that was about $2850 a month for our apartment, although it obviously wasn't worth that much. Our day would begin, and we would drive out to whatever area the salesmen sold in and wait for them to make a sale.

Pinnacle hadn't done their homework. Houston City required a permit for each security system, to the tune of $115. That's probably why Houston was the lowest selling office that summer, although gas prices did go up, making it much more expensive for us to get to where we were going. Of course, Pinnacle was going to reimburse us for gas…at the end of the summer.

When the salesmen did sell a system, we'd leave our superheated cars and crawl around superheated attics, empty of air and full of cockroaches, mouse droppings, and the ever-present irritating insulation.

I survived a month or so of this, but then my small Saturn died completely in the center lane of the highway on the way to the sales area. I had just gotten out to push it when a Ford F-150 with a thousand pounds of rebar in the back slammed into the back of my car, ramming it into the intersection and sending me to my knees on the asphalt. The bar between windows cracked three ribs, and I was rushed to the emergency room.

I tried continuing with the attic crawl after a week off, but one excruciating attic was enough to let me know that I was done. So I took off like a bat outta...Houston. Of course, with the weird combination of Texas and Utah health insurance laws, the other driver paid nothing for the accident.

Pinnacle paid about a third of the salary I'd planned on for that summer in the bonus at the end. I asked if I would still get it, since I was medically incapacitated. They assured me I would. Well, I was reimbursed for the gas.

How to beat Angst

2006-07-07T00:58:16Z

You know those rambling angsty journal entries, the ones that end up not making much sense at all? The ones that tend to include "nothing is fun" or "my life is unfulfilling" or "I don't know what I want"?

An answer I have found works well: Go and do the dishes. Clean your room. Forget the need for a perpetual entertainment glut and get something physically productive done. Then look at it and enjoy the fact that it's clean. That's helped me keep my grip on the reality that my life is actually rather excellent, even when I would psyche myself out of thinking so.

royanrannedos @ 2006-06-27T17:17:00

2006-06-27T23:51:51Z

My wife has excellent stories from her earlier college days, especially of one horrendous roommate we'll call Agatha. Aggie lived in her own little world where everything magically got done for her. :?) what a happy place!

Unfortunately, Aggie's three roommates got a little annoyed at having to staff that world. Despite having a year of college under her belt, Aggie still didn't know many of the basics of living. When Stef (my wife) arrived, the house was freezing. Aggie didn't know which way to turn the thermostat, so she thought turning it down would make it warmer.

Now, Aggie might have been alright if her ignorance was short-lived. No such luck. Every time she made the one dish she knew how to make, mac and cheese, she would ask:

"How much water do you put in it?"

:?|

Four times a week.

Aggie would proceed to eat the mac, then leave the pot in the sink for her magical world to take care of! :?) how fun!

And then came Kraft Easy Mac. As Stef said, "It was the Light of Day."

What wasn't so fun was when Stef woke Aggie up in the morning. Didn't she know that tiptoeing wasn't enough? And she kept on letting light in from outside the room when she got ready. How inconsiderate.

Stef would try to sleep through the Doomsday Alarm as it slowly rose in volume and pitch until the neighborhood dogs started yelping. Then Aggie would finally press snooze and repeat the process nine minutes later. Eventually, she would get up and blast the radio while taking a long shower.

This wouldn't be such a problem if Aggie hadn't spent such time on her ponytail. As a volleyball player, she knew the importance of a good ponytail. Thank goodness her magical world saved enough time (30 min.) for it in the morning.

Stef remembers one particularly long session. Aggie finally emerged and asked, "does it look all right?"

"Aggie, it's a ponytail."

"Yeah, but I changed my part."

:?|

The most unbelievable Aggie moment was at one roommate's parents' house in Las Vegas. They had installed security cameras just before the roommates came to visit. Afterwards, they called Stef's other roommate to tell her that their camera had recorded 45 minutes of Aggie checking her butt in the mirror.

45 minutes.

Real life is far stranger than stereotype.

Punny work stuff

2006-06-24T01:19:44Z

I search for location information for my work. I have to find addresses in Minnesota, where they don't believe in addresses. But I ran across this paragraph, which has enormous pun potential.

loon population stable; volunteers are needed

The loon population in Minnesota has remained stable during the last ten years, according to a report released by the Minnesota DNR. The project, which summarizes observations submitted by hundreds of dedicated volunteers who counted loons on 600 lakes, is used by the DNR's Nongame Wildlife Program as an early warning system for detecting changes in the number of loons.

The project's report is available online: www.dnr.state.mn.us/ecological_services/nongame/projects/

mlmp_state.html .

Minnesota's common loon population is stable in both number of adults and number of juveniles observed on study lakes. In order to maintain the loon monitoring program's effectiveness, the nongame wildlife program is seeking volunteers to survey loons on designated lakes in Kandiyohi,

"So, what type of loon do you consider yourself?"

"I ain't no common loon, that's for sure." *checks fish radar*

royanrannedos @ 2006-06-22T20:21:00

2006-06-23T02:25:28Z

We went to our first Pre-natal appointment yesterday, and they gave us ultrasound photos of our new baby! :?D It's much more interesting when it's your own child.

Little Peanut 1
Little Peanut 2
Little Peanut 3

And what happened to the add image button? has it been replaced with the add cheesy videos button? oi.

royanrannedos @ 2006-06-16T12:34:00

2006-06-16T18:41:53Z

Wow. I just watched the Labyrinth for the first time last night.

Two questions:

1. What was Jim Henson smoking?

2. What on earth does David Bowie have down his tights?

I also find it funny that in the making of featurette afterwards, Jim Henson says something to the effect that this is a movie that means something. He never specifies what....

Stupid Financial Aid Office...

2006-06-08T00:01:47Z

Yar!

I applied for a Pell Grant, and I was denied because I'll supposedly have a bachelors degree before July 1st. I don't graduate until December.

Read the date more carefully people! Now it'll be another month before it gets here. Yar.

royanrannedos @ 2006-06-06T12:49:00

2006-06-06T18:50:45Z

Blech.

Must...copy...information...

I can't afford to be sick...

royanrannedos @ 2006-06-01T14:49:00

2006-06-01T20:51:04Z

heh,

I set my own hours at work, and I thought I'd worked six when I'd only worked four. I'd sent in the status report and everything. Had to turn around and go back into the office.

My mind is just going...

royanrannedos @ 2006-05-31T08:10:00

2006-05-31T14:18:40Z

Good Morning,

Here I am at work again, in an empty office. Unfortunately, the server for our website is down right now, taking out most of what I can do for my job, and since I set my own hours, it means I'm going to be working later.

Oh well. I've been working 8 straight hours/day for the past little while, and I really don't mind taking a little break. :?)

Morning sickness seems to be dying down, and Stef is feeling a lot better! :?D We have our first pre-natal appointment in a little while, and then we'll find out how many we're having. Stef had a premonition of twins right after we conceived, and ever since I've been rather nervous. I've heard about these premonition thingies, and this is one that would prove uncomfortable if accurate. But I'd be fine with two, if it comes down to it.

Perhaps I'll work more on my story.

royanrannedos @ 2006-05-27T18:24:00

2006-05-28T00:26:24Z

What a lovely, rainy Memorial Day Weekend.

Owing to an amazingly crazy wedding this month, I'm putting in insane hours copying and pasting tiny bits of information from one field to the next. It's making my brain feel like cheese.

But in a minute, I'm going to go deliver a sandwich to Stef when she goes on break from work! That will be excellent.

GPA

2006-05-11T16:27:59Z

WOOTH! My last class finally posted grades and I ended up with a 3.91! :?) Of course, that will go up once my internship credit is added in when I graduate.

I even did well in the class I thought the best possible grade was a B (you know the type of class I'm talking about, the one with the picky/raunchy/insane teacher) with a grade of A-.

Yesterday was my anniversary, and if any of you are in Logan, I would reccomend Hamilton's Steakhouse. Stef and I had Prime Rib and Miso Salmon with desert for $30, and the service was excellent. One year! Awesome!

Yar!

2006-04-21T02:12:12Z

Yar, I hate my compy.

It's a frankensteined, bastardized Compaq (does anyone remember Compaq?) that my wife's family has had since 1993. It won't run anything other than windows 95, makes the classic groaning and clicking sounds, and takes for-ev-er to load anything. and it doesn't do the rich text editor, meaning I have to take time coding. (not that there's anything wrong with that, but I don't want to be all night when it's my entire prologue. Yar.

Rant aside, I've finally re-written my prologue for Zenith: Sons of the Morning! :?) Huzzah! I first wrote it right when I got back from my mission and it was about as telling and cliched as you could get it. Hopefully it's a little better this time around.

I hope Stef doesn't have Strep. That would really suck for the last week of school, which is the English Major's Finals week.

royanrannedos @ 2006-04-21T01:28:00

2006-04-21T02:00:13Z

Prologue

Moonshadows

Tall bronze pole lamps stood about the room, but only the one nearest the door was still burning. The quick walk from the reception room had put Altyr in his bedroom ahead of his servants, something he appreciated. He had always felt awkward about some other man pulling his trousers on. He hadn’t grown up expecting it, and even three decades of that service hadn’t changed his attitude.

Altyr sighed at the darkened room, walls paneled with nearly black saltwood from the Treeline. The wood was precious, harvested from the only forest to survive the Drowning, but it made for a very dim and depressing room. Tapestries depicting the history of the realm added some relief with glints of golden thread, past conquests and glories of the kingdom of Tygaras woven as a prideful tribute. The lightest part of the room was the golden silk hangings draped from the carved posts of his massive bed. He never understood why they bothered with the drapes. Like most people, he slept with his eyes closed, and he spent little enough time in the room the rest of the day. Several eyes glinted from the silk coverlet, the embroidered eyes of mythical beasts ridden into combat during the War of Rejection.

Pale green moonlight seeped through the open balcony window, angling off a gilded stand mirror on the other side of the room. His reflection grew as he walked towards it. In that light, it was impossible to tell the fair hairs from the gray in his head and beard. Undoubtedly, today had added more gray.

The moonlight glinted from one crystal face of the Vision Stone hanging around Altyr’s neck, and Altyr tightened his fist around it, drawing the golden chain tight, feeling the links dig into the back of his neck. He relaxed his grip. It wasn’t his place to question the will of the Mediator, and he wouldn’t start now.

Jaw clenched, he paced about the empty room. He had never asked for any of this. He had been content to let some other fool noble take the throne during the last succession. But then Father pulled this Stone from nowhere and a few miracles later everyone had found their faith again. And then they stuffed him into his trousers, his cloak, this black box. Both fists clenched at the end of tense, motionless arms.

As he returned up the room, the moonlight from the balcony beckoned him, a brightening escape from the box. His pace quickened as he stepped up onto the balcony. I only hope I haven’t missed it.

Neither the servants nor the guards appreciated it when he stood on the balcony. A target for arrows, Captain Byrt reminded him time and time again. But the green glow of the false moon had awakened a childhood memory, and he only hoped that he was not too late to see it.

He sighed again as he stepped out onto the balcony, this time in relief. A glance to the left showed that the smaller false moon had already passed over the horizon far to the north, casting the white stone of the capital city in a faint green light. They called it the crystal city, though the white stone did not compare to the real crystal on the mountain. I haven’t missed it yet! He looked straight ahead to the east.

The horizon showed a pale glow, silhouetting the mountain range to the east of the city. Altyr hoped the moon was full; it had been quite some time since he’d had enough time to pay attention to the phase of the moon. Only a moment later, slivers of light sprung from the peak, and Altyr smiled. Few things compared to moonrise over Mount Euroclydon.

An unbroken line of pure white now ran across the mountain, a jagged line marking the edges of the crystal spires. As he watched, the line grew, swelled into a thousand different refractions of the moon, white and gray sweeping across the sky in front of him. As he always had before, he glanced down at his own moonshadows, streaming out behind him in nearly all directions. His mother had told him once that each of those represented a path he could have chosen: fair to consider, but impossible to keep. They always solidified into one shadow: your own past, cast from the present. A harsh reality, he thought, as he looked enviously at the faint dancing shadows.

He heard a soft sound of delight from off to his right. He tuned to see Elyse, her red hair soft over her shoulder, her eyes also refracting the moonlight. She glanced his way then, and smiled. For an instant, she was her mother, with each of her moonshadows holding promise and hope. Altyr smiled back.
The moon shadows vanished one by one as someone lit the lamps in the chamber behind him, their light spilling out over the balcony. With one last brilliant smile, Elyse turned and slipped quietly into her room, taking all the wonder of the moonlight with her. A high voice floated out from inside. “Is there someone out there?” With one last look at the moon, he turned and entered his chamber.

Standing on the far side of the bed and holding a glowing lamp lighter before him like a sword, Altyr’s servant Rohr exhaled and straightened when he saw who was entering the room. He’d grown since Altyr had seen him last. Now his blond head brushed the drapes of the bed, where before, he’d had trouble setting them up after they were cleaned. Altyr had put the lad on his shoulders then; if he tried that now, Rohr’s legs would probably dangle to his waist. Of course, he was only a year older than Elyse, but it was easier to see Elyse as a child still.

“You scared me, Sire,” the youth said, blowing the glowing end of his splinter into a ribbon of smoke and setting it at the base of the lamp nearest the bed. “I thought you were still in your meeting.”
“I’d said all I needed to say, Rohr. Here, let me help you.” Altyr crossed to the other side of the bed and grabbed the upper edge of the embroidered coverlet, almost a tapestry in itself, to begin the process he and Rohr had developed for whenever Altyr arrived ahead of the other servants. Altyr enjoyed the routine, since he got a minute of independence, and Rohr got a minute free of duties.

"If you don't like it, Sire, then why do I put it on in the first place?" Rohr asked, as they reached the end of the bed. After folding the coverlet in half again, Altyr tossed his end to him, and Rohr quickly bundled it up until only three snarling faces showed.

"Mainly because Jadir insists. Maybe he likes having something to watch when he cleans up. Besides, it's hideous." His chief steward meant well, but when it came to tradition, he was as rigid as the boards on the wall.

Rohr barked a laugh as he straightened. "He would like that, wouldn't he?" The servant headed for the wardrobe as Altyr unbuttoned his coat. Silence stretched for a moment before he brought Altyr's nightclothes and laid them on the bed.

"Rohr," Altyr said, sliding his arms into the silver silk robe, "what do you think of the Federation?"

Rohr's eyes widened. "You want my opinion, Sire? You're the one who just spent hours meeting with the experts. You're the one who reads the reports."

"Experts make mistakes too. Not even this guarantees perfection." He shook the Vision Stone at Rohr before tucking it into his undershirt. Father had found that out firsthand, ignoring the stone's warning while addressing the people from the balcony. Maybe all the foiled assassination attempts made him think he actually was immortal. The one time he thought he could do without the Stone's help was the beginning of Captain Byrt's arrow paranoia.

Rohr nodded. "Well, the clerks have all been walking on air the past few days. Tygaras as a whole stands to prosper greatly from this trade agreement. It opens up literally half the world to us. How do you feel about it, Sire?"

Tell him. Altyr's arms relaxed after belting the robe closed, tension draining from his body with the emotions that always accompanied a command from the Mediator. "If Tygaras allies itself with the Federation, it will invite disaster and bondage. That was the impression that I received during my meeting."

"So the Federation is evil?"

"I don't know, Rohr. All I have is paper and their word on it. They might not be, since both of those are flawless. But it will happen, one way or another. It's easier for the experts to convince themselves that I'm speaking for myself when so much profit is on the line." He kicked his trousers onto the bed.

Rohr started gathering up Altyr's scattered clothes. "Well, Sire, if it's worth anything, I've never had reason to doubt you. I'm not about to start now."

The door creaked quietly as it opened, and Jadir entered, his face fixed in its perpetual bland expression. “Good evening, sire.” His voice echoed the door as he bent stiffly. Rohr quickly folded the garments in his hands over each other before clutching them to his chest. The chief steward’s eyes glinted green as they swiveled behind his bronze face, taking in the entire room. After a moment, he gave a fractional nod, and Rohr exhaled, bowed to Altyr, and started towards the door. Two other liveried servants filed through the door, one carrying a white towel and the other a steaming pitcher on a platter. Rohr gave Altyr one last nod before squeezing past.

“Your draught, sir,” Jadir intoned, motioning to the other servants. The two men started slightly with a clatter of silverware, and the regained their composure and started across the room. One servant’s hand trembled as he poured the draught into the cup. Altyr didn’t recognize the man, but the first time serving the king would make anyone nervous. A few dark drops of the herbal concoction Altyr had taken every night since he’d been married slid down the side of the silver cup.

King Altyr took the cup and, as usual, looked Elwyn in the eyes as he sipped the liquid, its bitter taste fitting his mood. Drink this, her voice repeated in his mind, before she reached for the cup herself. They say it’s less bitter when shared with a friend. Jadir straightened from his bow, waiting. The draught was exceptionally bitter tonight.

The portrait hanging on the wall opposite the bed was the one feature of the box that Altyr appreciated. He and Elwyn stood side by side, her long red hair framing her pale face beautifully. Altyr didn’t like how stern his face looked, but then, he never spent much effort looking at himself painted in heroic size. His face stretched across the curve of his silver cup, and even there looked years older than the face in the portrait, though but three years had passed since Chancellor Ruban had commissioned it. His life without Elwyn was the main reason that the years hadn’t been as kind to him.

The burning inside lingered longer than usual. “Jadir!” he called, and turned his head to find the chief steward right next to the bed. His eyes glinted maliciously, though his face wore the same bland expression. “Something is wrong. Go and fetch Yves and…” His breath left him with a groan as his stomach clenched, and the draught spilled across his golden sheets before the cup thudded to the floor. He needed the castle physician immediately.

“Troubled stomach, sire?” Jadir said, making a gravely noise in his throat. King Altyr realized that he had never heard Jadir laugh. The sound pebbled his skin. He tried to move, but the burning had spread to his limbs, and he was paralyzed.

“Jadir!” His weakened voice was drowned out even by Jadir’s soft chuckles. The two servants at his door looked relieved. Of course they would, since they had helped poison him. Together, they had shifted one of the tall standing lamps to block the doorway. Why hadn’t the Stone warned him?

“Oh, sire,” Jadir continued, “I’m sure that the old man taught you enough to know the effects of firebane root. Paralysis, starting from the stomach. The outer limbs go next. The lungs are the last to shut down as the poison goes through, making death long and very, very painful.” Jadir now threw back his head and howled with laughter.

The servant who had carried the platter started forward, hand reaching behind the tabard of his livery and balling into a fist beneath the golden cloth.

Altyr had been so careful, heeded every warning. Now his country would face certain ruin, and he would not be there to save it.

Jadir’s laughter cut off abruptly, and he turned to face the servants. The servant in the front drew his long dagger, and the one behind him started reaching under his tunic. “The stone is mine! I won’t settle for less!” He stalked closer towards the bed. Before he took two steps, he arched his back with a muffled cry. The second servant pulled his dagger from the first’s back and stepped over him, dagger held at the ready. A little drop of blood dripped onto the hardwood floor.

“You are dismissed.” Jadir made a sideways throwing motion, and a dark spot appeared on the right shoulder of the servant's livery. The servant stopped short, the dagger falling from twitching fingers to clatter on the floor. The firebane had been prepared in its strength for him.

Jadir grabbed the servant by the shoulders and sent him toppling backwards over the body of his comrade with a simple shove. Altyr’s lungs burned, but each breath felt like breathing fire. Jadir bent under the bed, retrieving a cask of lamp oil.

“Would my sire like a nightcap?” he intoned, and began chuckling again as he doused the furniture and furnishings of the room. One swift kick broke a leg from a table with a swath of cloth made a makeshift torch, and Jadir quickly spread his arson around the chamber. The golden flames gave a bright contrast to a suddenly black night outside the large window to his balcony.

With that, Altyr knew. The Vision Stone shall fly in fire, yet shall return, when the nation is purged. And yet, Tygaras shall stand, and shall shine as a light towards the west. He recalled the faces at his coronation, dismayed at the sudden message from the Mediator, recalled pushing it as far back as he could against his enhanced perception and attention. I prophesied my own death.

Altyr turned his head straight with the last of his strength. He knew that he was dying, but for some reason, he felt calm. He barely noticed as Jadir lifted the Vision Stone from around his neck. He gazed at the portrait of his family. He found it fitting that as his most prized possession was the first thing that greeted him every morning, so it would be the image before his eyes for the last few moments in this mortal world.

The golden frame was starting to melt, and the image was discoloring where the flames were catching, but there they still were: Elwyn, and Elyse. Elyse was the only thing he regretted leaving behind, as he was only rejoining his wife on the other side. What a twist of fate that as she died of a scorching fever, he would follow on a blazing pyre!

His skin tingled slightly as Jadir poured the rest of the oil over his body. Suddenly, a panoramic vision burst before his eyes, the first glimpse of the next world. Past and future came together, and Altyr would have laughed if he had had the strength in his lungs. He now knew that all of this was a part of the fate the Mediator worked to bring about. He took his last glimpse of the world he knew, and he smiled as he looked at his daughter’s smiling face, which by now was the only distinguishable feature left on the flaming canvas. There would be no reminder that he, Altyr of Tygaras, had worn the Vision Stone, no physical testament of his wife’s beauty. But none of that mattered now. Nothing would separate him from his family. Not forever. Until they were reunited, Elyse would be safe. He passed into the enfolding warmth.

The flames licked at the wooden roof beams of the king’s chamber. Tapestries depicting the history of the realm, closely woven threads depicting the past conquests and glories of the kingdom of Tygaras, all were fast becoming ashes flying on the currents of shimmering air. Jadir fingered his trophy, its crystal facets glowing blood red. He finally had it; the Vision Stone, the heirloom of the Tygaras line for generations. This was his moment of triumph!

Jadir's eye twitched against the heat of the room, but he took no notice the inferno raging around him, nor was he concerned with the shouts of the guards finally coming from the stairwell.

Despite dying a horrible death, King Altyr died with a smile on his face, and Jadir could not block the image from his mind. He had known the face Altyr would wear, he had seen it on the others had stood in his way and fallen, faces twisted in fear or anger, eyes blank or stinging from betrayal. But here, he had finally succeeded in taking King Altyr’s most precious possession, and in his final moments, he seemed not to even taste his own death!

The king’s sightless eyes stared at Jadir. The wheezes of the slowly dying servant behind him, kicking fitfully on the ground, echoed in his head, almost forming pleading words. Altyr’s face filled his mind, and Elwyn’s picture burned into his memory. With a roar, he flung the small remnants of his torch at the king, causing him to burst into flames. No, Altyr will burn, and I will finally have the glory that I deserve! The thought echoed in the muted roar of the room as the flames framed Altyr’s peaceful face.

Jadir coughed as the smoke seared his lungs. Behind him, one of the roof beams came crashing down in a shower of sparks. He regained control of himself. He would deal with Altyr later. By the time they realized that this was anything more than an accident, he would be well on his way. He ran to the window.

Elyse awoke in a sweat. Once again, she had had the dream. Two swords, one made of crystal, the other black as night, flashed amidst images of people and places that Elyse had never seen nor imagined. The two blades clashed, and she woke up.

Her darkened room was just as it always had been. Mahogany furnishings made it a bit somber, but the light of the moon from the uncovered bay window provided just enough light to make out their edges. Father seemed to smile again in the moonlight, and Elyse calmed down. Everything was as it should be; her very fine and mostly unused dollhouse still stood in the corner, and her archery set was still hidden under the dresser. Chancellor Ruban disapproved of most of her hobbies, but as far as she was concerned, he could mind his own business. Ever since Mother had died of that fever when Elyse was young, she had been raised mostly by Chancellor Ruban and her many tutors. He meant well, but he was just so stuffy! Not to mention his firm ideas on the place of women in castle life. He was the one who had given her the dollhouse, although he wasn’t very happy when she set up her dolls and used them as targets.

That was when she’d promised Father that she would try harder to be the little lady everyone wanted her to be. Chancellor Ruban had drawn himself up to his full height, waving his slender arm in front of him for emphasis. He did that often, thinking it made him look regal. It makes him look more like a scarecrow than anything else. Elyse thought. Either way, she was obedient when father asked her to obey the chancellor, although she did catch the smile in his eyes while the chancellor was explaining the situation and she knew that the promise was more for the chancellor’s benefit than it reflected his own wishes.

Father understands me, Elyse thought as she settled back under her sheets. He understood that she would rather be drilling with Captain Byrt and the Home Guard than doing needlepoint, or some other useless, frivolous thing. She didn’t mind the practical turn of things, and she had surprised the kitchen staff by demanding cooking lessons. But whenever she tried to really learn something, Chancellor Ruban would swoop down like a kingfisher and order her back to her stupid lady things.

So, she had started sneaking out at night for secret fighting lessons with her guard friends. They had protested at first, but when she pointed out that she was just as easy to guard outside her room as inside, they saw things her way. Everyone did, with enough time. Soon she was learning for about an hour before bed each night. That lasted until the chancellor checked up on her.

Suddenly, smoke filled her lungs, and she started coughing violently. Fire! Instinctively, she jumped out of bed, the stone floor cold under her feet. After all of Chancellor’s ranting, her escape artist tactics were saving her life! Despite the danger, she couldn’t repress a satisfied smile. Rohr might have the advantage in height, but being short meant that there was less to move.

Her smile disappeared as she ran out into the hall and saw a wall of flames billowing from her father’s room far away down the hall. She froze, staring at the scene, her long red hair flying in the backdraft. She barely heard Captain Byrt frantically calling her name, and she didn’t move as he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. It was only after he had dashed around the corner and down the stairs that her dry eyes released their tears.

They called it The Edifice.

There was simply no other word to describe it. It towered above the kingdom of Augustan, encompassing the capitol city of Dexia like a frozen tidal wave waiting for the right moment to fall upon the meager lives of its people. Architects from centuries gone had built upon the foundations of the ancients, each successive level with all the style and beauty that his generation had to offer. Stone catwalks seemingly wrought of lace connected domed towers to columned halls, all above perfumed hanging gardens full of exotic plants. Waterfalls descended from high above, cascading past sculpture and banner, misting through overgrown, forgotten plant tangles, descending into the blackness below the foundation where the great river Rethra ran towards the cliffs of Dexia. The years of war had come and gone; kings and rulers had lived, died, and been forgotten, not necessarily in that order. The city had shaped itself around it, and The Edifice ascended ever higher.

Senarius wished that they had built it shorter.

The wind whistled through the arched colonnades, blowing Senarius’ golden cloak before him and making it glint red in the early twilight. The Sacred Heart, sworn to guard the Prophet of Augustan, trailed behind him, a dark flash of green far to the side of the golden rim of his spectacles. Hundreds of feet below the thin-seeming stone railings, the cityscape faded miles into the distance, blending seamlessly with the tops of the Kvol Mountains in the distance. Senarius took care not to walk too close to the railings; he had orchestrated too many accidents over those railings, and the image and sounds of the results stayed with him. He was so close to the inner curve of the hallway that Haron loomed directly behind him rather than at his right, the guard’s head nearly brushing the side of the arched ceiling.

Senarius normally avoided seeking out Lord Thanatos in his quarters. Interrupting him at the wrong time could lead to an accident. Lord Thanatos guarded his secrets very closely. But he had given orders for this, however incomprehensible, and Senarius’ authority should protect him somewhat. At least it will be a quiet death. Probably poison.

As they rounded the curve of the hallway, a golden-liveried lamplighter looked over from his sconce and gave a gasp, nearly dropping his glowing rod. “My Lord Prophet!” Without hesitation, he knelt on the checkered white-and-gold floor tiles, directly in Senarius’ way.

Giving the man the perfunctory blessing gesture without really looking at him, Senarius passed without swerving aside. He heard the servant scuffle to his feet behind him, likely trying to get away from Haron. Despite his vow to the Church and his office, Haron’s swarthy, scar-crossed face under the gleaming domed helmet usually inspired fear rather than admiration. Three sets of footsteps echoed in unison in the silent hallway without missing a beat.

If Senarius had known how much aggravation came with the role of Prophet, he might have turned the offer down. Of course, turning down Lord Thanatos usually meant a personal experience with a long way down. Prophet was another role worthy of Senarius’ skill, and his pride had pulled him in, he supposed. Why settle for lulling pedestrians for his anonymous band of thieves when he could influence the world?

The world was a larger place than Senarius had imagined. Tonight’s annoyance stemmed from five years of events across continents, using the finest of their agents scattered across the Church and the Federation to track a vanished piece of jewelry. Of course, most people believed the mystic legend of the Vision Stone, enough to gain Lord Thanatos’ attention. It galled to have to compete with a rock.

The sun sat on the tips of the mountains behind him as Senarius approached the tall, fiery gold doors that led to Lord Thanatos’ chamber. The two guards standing beside the door might have been statues cast from the door’s metal, aside from the dark contrast that deep eye holes made in the flashing blank face masks. Senarius approached the door, and both pairs of guards tensed for an instant, green an instant after gold. He pushed the doors open with an aggravated sigh. Pausing to resolve this wouldn’t make his news any better.

Despite the late hour, light still filled the large main entry of Lord Thanatos’ apartments. Thin crystal casements left small glowing slits between silvered mirror panels along each outer wall. The room’s furnishings, a carefully arranged collection of rich saltwood furniture interspersed with guilding, reflected into a dark green oblivion. An army of his own reflections crossed the empty room, small despite his tall, three-pronged headpiece, the Sacred Heart flowing behind him in a smoothly advancing line.

A replica of the entry doors stood open on the other side of the room, and the extra light entering the doorway from the balcony reflected in brighter diamonds across the golden marble floor. The doors let out on the east face of the Edifice, its white stone showing a blue tinge in the twilight shadow that slowly spread over Dexia.

Lord Thanatos stood at the point of the oval balcony, surveying his city. The high-altitude wind caught his hair and fanned it behind him, showing the same color as the pale stone. At his right, a familiar young woman stood shaking her head, her eyes wide and staring.

“I hope you’ll reconsider.” Thanatos’ voice rattled from the poisoning that had turned his hair white, but that was nothing to the sounds the poisoner made when the Removers were finished with him. “For now, please wait in my chambers. Senarius will escort you down once I have finished my business with him.”

The woman gave a jerky courtesy and turned to leave. She met Senarius’ eyes, and her jaw clenched for an instant. He gave her a reassuring smile, and some of the tension left her face, migrating to his mind. Women among the brotherhood? Senarius only knew of men in the Sons of the Morning. Was she the first, or just the most recent? Short, with a long nose and curly chestnut hair. Where had he seen her? “Wait with our daughter in the antechamber,” Senarius commanded, and the Sacred Heart turned and flanked the woman back among the mirrors.

“See that she has an accident.”

Haron would see to that. With any luck, Senarius would be against the far wall where he would only have to deal with the sudden silence after echoing screams. “Yes, Lord Thanatos.”

“What news of the Stone, Senarius?”

Nothing for it.“Lord, our brother has been assassinated and the Stone has vanished, with his other brother returning at the point of death.”

Thanatos said nothing as the light deepened to bronze sunset. “My Lord Thanatos,” Senarius continued, “we have spent five years pursuing this myth, at the cost of some of our best brothers. By my council, we should forget this stone altogether. I speak for the Mediator, and I speak for you. You are the Mediator to your people.”

“Can you explain away miracles, Senarius?” Lord Thanatos faced him, revealing dead eyes as stony blue and devoid of life as his hair. “Twenty years ago, miracles were enough to topple the throne of Tygaras. Either you will perform those miracles, or there will be no miracles. Especially not for you.”

Senarius bowed his head, mainly to hide his eyes. “Understood, my Lord Thanatos.”

“You underestimate the Mediator, Senarius. Those who have never met him often do.” The phrase jerked Senarius’ head up. “My wealth is men’s souls, Senarius. They will choose me, if I have to expend all the blood of the brotherhood to do it. Your work, and your life, is to find the Stone for me, and if it can’t be used, to remove it from the world.”

Lord Thanatos returned to his study of Dexia, where the long shadow of the Edifice now stretched almost to the edge of the horizon. “I hear and obey, my lord.” Senarius bowed, then glided calmly back across the floor. He would find the Stone, but the brotherhood would be his last resort. It was time to free more prisoners. As he passed the woman and his guards, he straightened his headpiece by the center prong before motioning the woman to walk at his side. Haron nodded.

The woman hastily followed him past the two mirrored guards out into the hallway, and in the light of the newly lit lamps, Senarius recognized one of his night servants. His stomach clenched again, more than it had on the way up. He only descended two levels of the Edifice before he had Haron grab her by the shoulders and throw her over the edge. Her head hit the side of the building and she did not even scream. The next person sent to kill him could be anyone. A long way down and I barely escaped this time. Finding the Stone would be the miracle he needed. The sun sank into the ocean in a great smear of blood.

Inverse Phoenix

2006-04-03T14:42:54Z

(This story is incomplete as of yet. I wrote it for a couple of challenges on my writer's community, but eventually I plan on expanding it to a whole story. Probably once school is over.)

Twitch. With only an instant’s warning, Rysthyk pounced on the man sitting on the folding chair in front of him, carrying both man and chair to the floor. Behind him came the sound of ripping canvas as the crossbow bolt punched through the tent, grazing his leather cuirass and ripping a few long red hairs from the back of his neck. His tail wanted to stand on end, but he held it down by sheer strength of will. That kind of motion would let his hunters know he was alive, and they would try again.

Rysthyk’s pointed ears twitched again as Penn spat out a mouthful of fur. “I knew I shouldn’t have turned Rocher off for the evening,” the human whispered, giving a quick twist of his hand. The sound of a landslide suddenly roared outside the tent, and then the ground shook twice. Twitch. Rysthyk’s ears swiveled towards the tent door. His leap to his feet used both arms and legs to push Penn across the floor, just as the canvas ripped again and another bolt pierced the carpets of the tent and buried itself in the sand beneath. Before another attack could come from outside, high pitched screams interspersed increasing crunches and thuds, and then all was quiet.

“Once again, thank you, Rys,” Penn rumbled as he climbed the short distance to his feet. The enchanter’s deep voice belied his short frame, with arms and legs proportioned at nearly half those of most humans Rysthyk had seen. Scanning the ground, he quickly found and replaced the spectacles that had gone flying under Rysthyk’s rescue, settling them on his large, angular nose. “You’d think they’d give up after all the news, but I guess everyone wants the one that gets away, eh?”

Now that the danger was past, Rysthyk’s tail lashed in the tent, and he was too annoyed to control it. Yar, he hated being hunted like a wild animal. It didn’t matter how far he went or where he was, someone was trying for his hide. He hadn’t done anything but defend himself. For all he knew, they wanted him in some twisted museum, above the plaque, “Last of the Longhair Chattein”. He hoped that this city Penn was leading them to would give some rest from the stupid game for a while. “Let’s see what’s left,” he growled softly, and swept out of the tent.

The sun burned low on the horizon above ochre crags to the west, silhouetting the lumpy figure of Rocher, standing at attention in front of the tent. As Penn’s shock of silver hair emerged from the tent, the rock golem clacked irritably. “I can see that,” Penn responded curtly, “and I’m sure we’ll pick him out once I turn you off again.” Rysthyk looked closer, and gave a satisfied smile when he saw a limp arm dangling between the two large boulders that formed Rocher’s torso, with an empty crossbow caught by the crank on its dangling sleeve. Come to think, Penn had left Rocher right where the would-be assassin had been standing.

“Good thing we didn’t wait too long, Penn,” he said, sinking his foot claws into the khaki cloak of the only one of five messes in front of Rocher that was still breathing. It groaned slightly as he turned it over, and he staring into the face of yet another cursed sand-elf. The other crossbow fell from his limp hand, and he stared up at Rysthyk with a relatively cool gaze for someone who had just been broken.

“Why?” Rysthyk growled softly. Normally, glinting green cat’s eyes broke nerve as fast as Rocher broke bone, but the limp Sand Elf looked up at him calmly.

“We hunt…for a reason, Chattein,” he gasped, then shuddered convulsively. He sucked air, and whispered, “The stars…have put…the balance of life and death…in your hands.” His eyes lit up fervently. “The world…the risk is…too…great...” His eyes dimmed with the twilight around him and his last words were a calm whisper that even Rysthyk’s ears strained to catch:
“Inverse…Phoenix…”

Penn now stood at his side, and barely glanced at the dead elf. “What sort of risk do you think he means?” he asked. “Do you have some hidden grudge with the Sand Elves that I don’t know about? You both can be a bit touchy at times.”

“You’ll understand when the Bleakness swallows your home,” Rysthyk grated softly in response. Histories told of a green world, where the deserts were patches on a planet full of life. Now, life came in small patches, and those small puddles were evaporating in the furnace. “When you watch the forest petrified beneath you, the rivers dry up, maybe you’ll understand.”

“As well, then, that I’m not an elder race,” Penn replied cheerily, short legs moving quickly as he crossed to the nearest pile of rags. “I’ll just hope the old world has a few good years left in it, and hope that the Chosen of the Phoenix fixes things at the turning of the Millennium. Oh, I really hope they’re intact this time.” He trailed off, absorbed in his search. “Not much chance of retrieving the one from Rocher but…ah!” He thrust his hand into the mess, and returned it holding a blood-damp bean.

“I had hoped the one we questioned last time was telling the truth,” Penn said, smiling as he wiped the bean on a dry patch of the elf’s cloak. “If these are what they claim they are, we could be very rich, very soon. Even you couldn’t say no to that.”

“If you want to believe in magic beans and immortal plants, that’s your business,” Rysthyk responded, “but I’ll get excited when I see something real.” Penn must have missed the dead elf’s last words, or he might have had Rocher crush the lot of them into powder, beans or no. He took his deity very seriously, perhaps because it was one of the most low-maintenance deities. Or one of the only ones left; praying to Yar didn’t even feel the same, almost as if he had faded with the rest of the world.

Penn just chuckled, shaking his head before moving on to the next corpse. “Tomorrow night, you’ll see something real,” he laughed. “You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Final Week in Phineoph. What’s more, you’re going to be there for the turning of the Millennium. That by itself should be worth a dragon.”

“It wasn’t just a dragon. It was seven.” Rysthyk began kicking sand over the corpse that Penn had already cleaned. “And don’t try to say that those hatchlings didn’t count. What made you go after five eggs?”

“Once again, my friend, large risks lead to large rewards.” Penn’s grin slid into a grimace as he pulled out another bean. “I was afraid that one might not have made it, but it missed his ribs, luckily. Anyway, that was the only time in my life that I would have a chance at dragon eggs, and the dragon was very occupied trying to toast your little party of mercenaries, so…”

Rysthyk spat on the hasty grave, then moved to the next. By tomorrow, the baking sand would dry them out as well as any embalmer. “You’re just lucky I didn’t waste time trying to slay the thing like the rest of them. The boss promised gold for dragon hide, live or dead, but I prefer my own hide intact. Although I must admit, the look on your face after that first hatchling came out of the egg and took a snap at your nose was priceless.”

“Hmmph!” Penn said, pawing over the last of the elves. He was so agitated that he didn’t even shudder at what he was searching through. “I was the one who knew where the back door was.” Rocher clacked insistently from where he still stood at attention. “Oh, all right, rest a spell,” Penn said testily, and Rocher collapsed into the sand with another wave of his hand. Of course, Penn wouldn’t be the one scraping those boulders clean tonight. Yar.

“And you’d have run straight out of the cave, and into the mouth of the proud father.” Rysthyk turned back to the side of the tent, retrieving Penn’s metal latrine shovel. He might as well get started. “Didn’t it cross your mind that gold dragons mate for life?”

“Oh, fine. Thanks again for the marvelous ears. But I say twenty-seven foiled assassinations and the Turning of the Millennium counts for one. Of the big ones.”

Rysthyk thought it over for a second. “Fine.”

By the time that Rysthyk had finished cleaning up, The sun burned violet on the rim of the desert to the west, just the eastern ridgeline of the Valley of the Phoenix in one ragged ridge. The three-pronged tower of the Temple of the Phoenix was a dark claw pawing the sunset, seeming to take the light with it. Ten years had passed since his beloved Kria had received a summons to that temple, five since the day his people vanished after he failed to heed a similar summons. Despite what Penn may have thought, he was not going to Phineoph for the debt of a few dragons. Answers waited somewhere in that Temple, and whatever it took, Rysthyk would find them.

__

Ruud Elzinga sat in the driver’s seat, watching the slow bulk of the Manu lizard in front of him plod in its iron harness. The great scaly tail swept back and forth in time with its steps, leaving an odd trail of swooshes of dots behind him in the snow. The wind howled down the Crevasse, whistling over the roof of the black sleigh that extended above Ruud’s head. Despite the protection, Ruud drew his face wrappings tighter, wishing he could cover his eyes as well. There was little difference between the dark leather and the skin beneath, but he still felt the cold. His sleigh carried more than cargo today, and that was the only reason he was making the brutal journey to Phineoph.

Ruud turned to look through the pane behind his head. The open windows of the sleigh let in little light, but he could make out the doctors as they bent over the inert form laid out on the far seat. The Iggurat had a long history of oracles, but Rapherochelle had made a name for herself, delivering her messages to music. When the foretelling took her, her bulky frame began to sway, and the soulful prophecy that emerged stuck in everyone’s mind for days. Her last still echoed in his, a prophecy concerning the Phoenix.

Here in the night
I see the sun
Here in the dark
Our two hearts are one
It's out of our hands
We can't stop what we have begun
And love just took me by surprise
Looking through your eyes
I look at myself
And instead I see us
Whoever I am now
It feels like enough
And I see a girl
Who is learning to trust
That's who I see through your eyes

She had pointed directly at him, commanding all eyes in the hall to look at him, before collapsing into a coma. The Elders decided that the prophecy meant that it was Ruud’s responsibility to care for the fallen oracle. Ruud thought that Raph had pointed to him merely because he was a friend. There had to be some theatrics involved in her prophecies. He didn’t doubt that she spoke true, he only doubted how often. After all, he had known Raph since they were children together in Phineoph. Her heritage called her back to her people, and she had held Ruud to a promise he had made to go with her.

The smooth black ice walls of the Crevasse ended in a jagged edge as the sleigh made its way onto the double-arched bridge over the Northwest Chasm. The three-foot stone wall on the side of the bridge was only small protection from the three thousand-foot drop to the bottom of the Crevasse. The wind carried flecks of snow in all directions now, including straight into Ruud’s eyes. The road from the Iggurat country was always harsh, and despite the wind, Ruud goaded the Manu into greater speed across the bridge.

The pinnacle of Mount Phineoph loomed before them, its slopes nearly vertical as it rose to the skies. The rulers of Phineoph lived in that mountain, and the three bridges controlled access to the deep bowl known as the Valley of the Phoenix. On the far side of the bridge, a large square stone doorway led straight into the mountain. Damp stone darkened the bridge at the doorway, and shimmers of heat emanated from inside.

The Manu sensed the heat and quickened its pace yet again, eager to be back in the warmth. As they entered the doorway, the sleigh scraped along the smooth stone of the Manu stables. A large pool of magma in dominated the far end of the room, casting the whole of the stable in a red light. The Manu strode straight to the edge of the magma, dipping its front feet in impatiently while waiting for the keeper of the stables.

It wasn’t long before a Iggura fire mage in black livery with the red phoenix emblazoned on his chest came up to them, followed by a team of liveried servants. His dark hair was a tight curly cap on his head, and his face had softened over years out of the cold. The mage bowed to Ruud before opening a leather folder that he had clasped to his chest. “Do you have anything to delcare, sir?”

“One passenger, here for medical care.” Ruud swung down from the driver’s seat, pulling back the leather that covered his face and hands as he dug through his belt pouch. Behind the customs mage, another glowing orange Manu surged from the pool. The heat of the magma seeped into his dark clothing, almost warming the chilled metal knives hidden about him “Other than that, nothing.”

The sleigh door opened, revealing two doctors lifting Raph on a stretcher before descending the steps. One stable worker offered a bucket of water to the Manu, but the lizard only looked at it and snaked out its tongue twice. He’d had enough to drink during the two-day journey. The stable workers unbolted the iron harness, letting the lower half fall to the floor, and the Manu slithered headfirst into the magma to feed and bask.

The Customs Mage looked over his papers. “Hmm…most interesting. These are in order. I wish you good luck in your journey.” He gave Ruud a smile. “I would hate to miss Rapherochelle’s next performance.”

The doctors had already carried Raph to the door that led deeper into the mountain. “As would I, sir.” The mage returned to his duties, and Ruud quickly strode after the departing stretcher. Whether Raph or Fate had singled him out, he would find out here.

__

Nightblooms exploded over Mount Phineoph, and Rysthyk’s ears twitched compulsively to catch the sound of each of them. He and Penn were sitting on the roof of Penn’s adobe house, with enough blankets spread out for Penn’s entire family. Penn’s daring trades had earned him a house in Phineoph’s upper tier, where . Sounds of revelry drifted up from below, and music spread throughout the city.

Penn had his arm around his wife Nellis’ shoulder, and his little son Pron on his lap. His older son Jarl sat behind them, because at fifteen he was already taller than the rest of his family. Penn had said that some people were puzzled at how a dwarf family could have a normal boy. Rysthyk didn’t even bother explaining Chattein breeding. Intertribal marriage could produce something much odder than a short-limbed human, such as a kitten without any hair.

“So, what do you think, Rys?” Penn gestured at the sky. “Is seven more nights of this worth a dragon or two?”

“It’s all right.” Boom. Twitch. Humans must really be deaf to enjoy these things.

“And after the Grand Finale,” Nellis put in, “the Phoenix will chose those who may approach him this Millennium. It should be any minute now…”

Rysthyk’s tail bristled as the night sky filled with Nightblooms, assaulting his ears with continuous sound. He cupped his paws over his ears to try and block the sound, without much success. The noise made him clench his eyes shut. It took a second after the ringing had stopped to hear Jarl’s exclamation: “Look!”

Rysthyk opened his eyes to see a glowing golden nimbus directly overhead. The transition from night to noon shut his eyes again, and when he did, two linked bird figures made a purple afterimage on the inside of his eyelid. When the light faded to black once more, he looked to find everyone on the rooftop staring openmouthed.

“Penn? Penn!” Nellis cried, grabbing her husband’s right wrist in her hand and beginning to weep. “No...”

Rysthyk felt something twitch on the back of his right paw. When he looked at it, an embossed red phoenix glinted in the moonlight.

__

Fireworks glinted dull red from the back of Ruud's hand before he rewrapped the leather coverings, sick of looking at the thing. Laughing crowds milled about him, some staggering under the weight of too many drinks. Another nightbloom lit up the sky, but Ruud paid it little attention. He designed better nightblooms than the ones in this part of the city, and he was only a third-level apprentice.

Ruud's eyes scanned the crowd, quickly discarding the multitude frolicking in the steaming fountain. Anyone wet in this weather had to be to drunk to see straight, and he needed an observer. He passed over three other laughing couples before his eyes settled on a red-robed priest striding through the crowd in moving clear space. Ignoring both the cries and catcalls of those he pushed aside, he made his way across the crowd.

"Father," he called over the crowd, just as the priest turned towards a narrow alley, the hem of his robe swirling while the stiff arched shoulders stood rigid, their points at the level of the priest's eyes. Normally Ruud had little to do with the clergy, but he needed a dependable witness.

"Yes, my son?" the priest intoned as Ruud broke through the last of the crowd.

"Something has happened. Have you seen anyone carrying an unconscious woman down this street? She has gone missing, and this is the only way out."

The priest's eyes searched Ruud's for a second before he shook his head, causing his topknot to swing back and forth. "I am sorry, but I have not seen any of this that you describe." In one smooth motion, he touched the leather over phoenix on of Ruud's hand. "However, odd things have happened in the past to the Chosen. I'm sure that by the end of the week, when the ceremony is completed, you will have all the answers you seek."

"But…" Ruud's words met the back of the priest's head as he glided away up the alley.

royanrannedos @ 2006-03-15T21:06:00

2006-03-16T04:09:57Z

Chapter Seven

Negotiations

Londred wanted to scratch his eyes to get the acid coat from them. He blinked again, and wind-driven misting rain washed his eyes and tried to pelt him backwards out of the saddle. Ahead of him, ranks of mounted men stretched along the muddy road that led back into Mersgaard. They were half a mile beyond the last span of weathered buildings, which made a flat brown line on the horizon.

Knuckling his eyes one last time, he looked over the fifty men he was taking with him to the Gitani camp. If things were different he’d have brought all his men with him. As it was, he could only take enough so as not to insult the Gitani. They were more of a last chance for Londred's own skin than anything, since if this meeting went wrong, there was little chance of him surviving.

Yar, he hated negotiations. He'd kept a cool head all through his training exercises, kept his hundred men together when the fifty-man revolt turned out to be two hundred flooding out of the woods. Battles killed, but at least they came out of the woods. At least you knew where the woods were and could plan accordingly. Negotiations killed too, while you were wondering where the woods were.

The messenger from last night had said to meet him here at first light, but the pale circle of light the sun managed to force through the mist stood halfway above the horizon behind his men. The wind pushed frozen needles further into his ears, doing nothing to help his shattering headache. Where is that bloody man?

"Here, sir." Londred gave a start as the grating voice answered his thought, and then turned to see the lanky messenger calmly sitting his horse, his rain cloak blowing back in the wind. The man had ridden up just outside his field of vision.

"What took you?" Londred said roughly. Did I say that out loud? He'd had more than enough of events blindsiding him without this messenger trying it. The messenger simply twitched his mouth in what could have been a smile before gesturing behind him with his hand and turning his horse towards the plain. If either the rain or Londred's glare bothered him he paid neither any attention, heeling his horse before it was fully turned and taking off at a run, his flapping cloak trying to sail over his head in the tailwind.

Londred bit off another curse, then gave the order to follow.

The dripping weather continued all that morning, and so did the breakneck pace the messenger set. They galloped through the tall grass of the plains, some patches reaching their horses’ bellies, some patches thin reeds disguising overgrown streams that they had to take at a walk. The dim gray brightened until Londred felt like he was riding through a damp, cold cloud; only the increasing light and the periodic walks they gave their mounts marked the passage of time through the utter sameness of the plains. His hair dripped chilled water that ran all the way down the back of his sodden cloak, but the front of him was almost dry.

The messenger finally stopped sometime around midday at a broad, clear stream, letting his horse bend his head and drink. The rest of Londred’s fifty pulled up behind him, their mounts blowing despite their careful speed. One bay came ahead from the others, carrying a dripping Ravel on its back.

“I wasn’t sure about that feller at first,” he said, pulling alongside Londred’s roan. He paused to sniff loudly before turning his head and spitting out the contents of his relatively small nose, amazingly missing his short white beard. “But it’d take a Gitani to gallop across the plains like that without breaking horses and necks.”

“Doubts?” Londred grunted. The last thing he needed was more doubts. Of course, there were quite a few things today that he really could do without, such as rain, riding, negotiations, and other people in general. If it was up to me, I’d be in bed.

“Well, the man has the coloring, but his accent’s…” the man paused as if trying to remember a more complicated word, “…off a bit. Just a hair, really, but enough to notice. But then…” he sniffed again, wringing water from his beard as he cupped his chin, “…well, he could just have a cold.”

Londred studied the messenger more carefully. His dark straight hair, tinged with iron gray, flowed past his shoulders as he dismounted and cupped one bronzed hand to the stream. He certainly matched what Londred had heard of Gitani. “Why would someone want to imitate a Gitani messenger, Ravel?” Londred asked quietly.

Ravel puzzled this over for a moment, then made a face and spat again. “Not a matter of would…but more of could, if you follow. Gitani are a tight folk, very exclusive. It’s how they keep control ‘round here. If someone knew enough to imitate a Gitani, either he is a Gitani or a he’s a dead man walking. This one’s taking us to one of the great chiefs. That would be suicide for an imposter, whether or not we actually ended up there. They take themselves seriously.”

Londred grimaced. He’d been hoping that this fellow was a bandit trying to take something from the Federation. Even his fifty could break through a bandit ambush, and then he’d have reason to go through all his methods to find something to make that messenger flinch.

“Water quickly, friends.” The messenger straightened up and turned back towards the waiting men. “Giovanni will not wait, and I can’t show you back.” His lips twitched again at the sound of fifty boots squelching down into the mud, followed by one loud splat as someone lost his footing. Londred remained mounted, staring down the Gitani in front of him as his men flowed anxiously past. And though the Gitani’s lips quirked again, those steely green eyes barely caught the reflection of trampled grass.

The rest of the afternoon passed in the same manner: walk, trot, canter, gallop, and then walk again. The mists and rain of the morning burned off with the relative heat of the afternoon, leaving enormous white clouds that seemed larger for having nothing but flat grassland out to the horizon to compare then with. Their fast pace ate ground, though, and at the end of the day, the sun sank behind the snow-mottled peaks of the Kvol range, now barely visible in the distance

When night fell, fistfights broke out over who got the drier spot for his bedroll. Londred’s fists put a stop to that quickly enough. Leaving the last two geniuses sitting on their wet bottoms to nurse their bleeding noses, Londred finally returned to the peak of a small rise where his too-small bedroll was stretched out. There were all sorts of things to keep the spark of anger glowing, and more came up every day it seemed. He just had to use it before events ground it out. He sat down on his bedroll, gave the saddlebag he used as a pillow one last punch, and stretched out on his side as much as he could.

“After all these years, you never get tired of looking at them,” came Ravel’s voice from a few feet away. Londred glared over his shoulder to see the older man resting his head on his hands, staring up at the night sky. The older man noticed and quickly released one hand to point upwards before tucking it back under. “Yes sir,” he continued, “despite everything, some things never change. And that’s enough, sometimes.”

Londred relaxed his neck and looked at the view himself as his head straightened. The half moon made the remaining clouds glow purple, and between them thousands more stars than he had noticed during his years in Dexia stretched into the deep night sky. Londred shivered as a fresh wind blew from the west, down from the Kvols, and turned away from the sky. The stars were as cold as the world, threatening to swallow his rage and continue oblivious.

“It’s colder without the clouds,” he growled, shifting in his damp cloak. A memory drifted through, of him sitting with Anaise at their back window, staring at the huge moon and naming what stars they could see over the lights of the city. And the stars ignored their names just as they ignored everything else…

“Funny…I never notice that,” Ravel responded. “But then, they keep me company until I get back home. Sooner or later, I always get back, and that never changes neither, I guess.” He paused. “You’re probably anxious to get back too, huh?”

Londred pulled his cloak tighter. Most likely, he’d be under the stars until his corpse was as cold as they were. Why had Ravel come along in the first place? He felt less about losing his other men than he felt about tossing his chamber pot into the gutter, mainly just hoping that no one else would step in the mess. Ravel had really put his foot in it, and now Londred needed to find a way to get him out of it before the Gitani took him with all of them.

He cleared his throat. “Ravel, could you get a message to Dexia? You know these plains better than anyone else in my men.”

The older man shifted behind him. “It’s that bad, then?” he asked.

“Just look at us. Our only advantage to the Federation is that we’re disposable.” Londred forced himself to unclench his teeth. “We might as well be dead already, Ravel. We’re murderers, rapists. Trash. I don’t think even success will change that. What will happen is that we will die, and the Federation has an excuse to take not only the Stone, but the plains as well. What I don’t want is this trash starting fires that destroys your home.” He sat up and turned to face the other man, who was also sitting on his bedroll.

Ravel was silent for a moment as the implications sank in. From off in the camp, the only sound was some soldier’s whining snore. “The Vision Stone,” he breathed finally. That was supposed to be a secret, but at the moment, Londred cared less about that than the leavings of his horse. “That’s enough for Giovanni to start a war. Forty years the Hamana Gitani been wanting to bleed us, but they’re too busy fighting among themselves to pay attention. I’m surprised Giovanni isn’t surrounded by other tribes…”

He looked up at the stars as if they would spell out his next thought for him, letting the silence stretch. They gave Londred no answers. A whinebite landed on his neck, and he slapped it away before it could bite. The sound seemed to jar Ravel back into focus. “So that means they must not know about the Stone!”

“Well, that’s just fine with me,” Londred murmured. His mind quickly pushed away the thought of all the Gitani massing between him and the Stone. That wouldn’t happen, and fear was cold. “Less I have to deal with.”

“Maybe for now. But Giovanni has always wanted to be the first High Chief of the Gitani. He signed his letters that way until the Operon kidnapped him and held him for half the Hamana’s horses. He hasn’t tried any hostilities since, but that was years ago, and he got all them horses back. The Gitani fall behind the strongest chief when there’s a war, and that means behind him if he has something they all want. It’s easier to stab an ally’s back when you’re fighting someone you hate worse. They say the Vision Stone lets you read minds, and any chief would sell his mother a spavined mare to get their hands on it.”

Londred sifted through the rambling for something useful. “So what can we do? If we attack, we give Giovanni both the stone and an army to kill us with. If we sit here, we die, Giovanni says we attacked us, and the same thing happens.”

“You are caught, aren’t you?” Ravel muttered. “Too bad we can’t just call for reinforcements out here in the middle of nowhere…”

“Wait.” Ravel had just shown him the woods, and now Londred could see where to put his men. “We’re not in the middle, are we? We know that we’re at most two days from the Kvols. If we can bring a hammer through Olmston and along the Kvols towards our position, then we might cut off the war before it starts.”

“A skirmish to prevent open warfare.” Ravel rubbed his beard down to the point of his chin. “If anything, the other tribes would be glad to see the end of the Hamana, and if we take out Giovanni before he can spread word of the Stone…” Ravel’s eyes unfocused again as he continued in a mutter, “That still leaves the Federation to put the best face on things, but given the choices, I think they’ll take a skirmish over war with a united Gitani. The last question’s how we’re going to get the messenger out without the Gitani noticing.”

Taking out Giovanni. The only time that anyone would ever get close enough would be when Londred met with him. “I selected fifty men and told the messenger I was bringing fifty. You make fifty-one. We’ll just have to hope what little luck we have holds and they don’t realize we sent someone.” The anger focused sharply. He would have to hope Roland died in a horrible accident.

Ravel stood up slowly, one hand on his back, his grunt for stiff joints pushing his words out. “Then I won’t wait for daylight. I’ll bring the cavalry as fast as I can for you. There’s just one place in the whole of that speech where you’re wrong.”

“Oh?”

“You, sir, are not trash. Covered in it, maybe,” he said with a grin, “but who isn’t, eh?” He turned to roll up his bedroll and sling it over his horse.

Londred grunted and turned back to his original cramped position. “Just stay hidden, Ravel,” he said, his head facing the other way. “If word of this gets ahead of them, you will find us buried.” Ravel gave a small snort and continued packing.

Londred remained awake long after the sound of Ravel’s horse had faded into the distance, staring at the dark insides of his eyelids and trying to calm thoughts that shouted over top of one another for attention. He could be a hero, but then, a hero had something to lose, a distance to fall. He had no illusions that kept him from facing what would happen tomorrow. This mission would bury him, his bones lost and forgotten in the long grass. But his mind still reached for a small reed to breathe through. Of course, the reed didn’t mean you stopped trying to dig your way out. It was funny how hope and fear managed to work together against anger, both hope and fear scattering his mind when he wanted simple, slow-burning anger. When he finally slept, he dreamed of clawing through a midden heap towards what he thought was the top, with his lungs straining for air and swallowing only half-rotted garbage.

A boot nudged his shoulder, and Londred started awake and stared up at the long stone mask the messenger used for a face. “Troubled dreams?” the Gitani grated, with that annoying lip twitch. Londred idly wondered whether that would be the last thing to twitch if he cut the man’s head off. If there was enough lip left after he’d pounded that face to his satisfaction. The man had started mumbling again between barely parted lips, almost unconsciously.

After a simple glance over his men, the messenger strode quickly to his horse, another mumble reaching Londred’s ears as he passed where he was tightening straps. Londred wished the man would mumble in words so he had at least a chance of finding out whether he noticed Ravel’s absence. He gave the girth one last hard tug and mounted.

They ate in their saddles, as they had for most of the way, each man chewing on hard-tack biscuits that had gone slightly mushier from the moist air in spite of riding in their saddlebags. Ahead of him, the messenger urged them into a trot. Londred ground the gritty bread between his teeth, slowly wearing down both bread and teeth, and tried to swallow the lump without it jostling sideways down his throat.

He nearly choked as the messenger abruptly turned sideways, reining his horse to a dead stop at the foot of a decent-sized hill, placing his horse directly in front of him. Londred’s horse shuddered to a stop as behind him men thudded to the ground an instant ahead of their horse’s front hooves. Blast the man, pulling that idiot stunt! He’d flaunted his importance enough already. He didn’t need to break bones to prove it to them.

The man raised his voice. “Our outriders are watching this ridge. Any man whose head appears over that horizon will lose it, and the others won’t be sitting on their shoulders for long.” Londred thought he heard murmurs over the stamping horses, but the news would spread to those who couldn’t hear. “I will take your leader to the appointed meeting,” the messenger went on, “and he will be returned to you…as long as he shows the proper respect.” A hand went into his pocket and pulled out a dark linen scarf. Without a word, Londred heeled his horse forward and pulled alongside the messenger, who smirked one last time before the cloth covered Londred’s eyes.

At that moment, Londred really wished his horse had been war-trained. Instead, it calmly let the messenger take the reins and lead it over the ridge at a walk. As the horse began descending the other side, he fervently hoped his men would be there when he returned, and felt a flash of irritation at having to wonder.

The afternoon sun was hot on the dark fabric over his face as yesterday’s rain rose from the ground, reaching Londred’s nose with the smell of steamed horse. After the first hour, sweat had soaked through the cloth at his temples, dripping down the back of his head to meet the damp back of his coat under his cuirass.

After the second hour, the messenger still led the horse at a walk, and the only indication Londred had that they weren’t just walking in circles was the sense of rise and fall as they crossed the small hills. It took all he had not to rip the blindfold from his face and strangle the man with it, especially once the gnats started swarming around him.

Londred’s hand twitched to his face, only to wipe his forehead, but the messenger caught it and held it motionless an inch from his face. “That would be unadvisable.”

“Hold!” Londred started at the sudden command, and felt something scrape down the side of his neck. Luckily for him, the messenger’s firm grip kept him from jolting too far towards the point that now pressed firmly under his jaw. “What is your reason for bringing this outsider here?” the same voice commanded from the other side of the messenger, who rustled in his pouch.

“This is urgent business for our chief,” the messenger answered, and Londred lowered his head as the spear eased from his throat. “It would be best if you didn’t speak of it.” Without another word, the messenger clicked his teeth and the horses started forward again.

Rapid footsteps, and the horses stopped again. “Allow us to escort you,” said the sentry on his side. “Giovanni informed us that a messenger would be arriving, but we were expecting…” He trailed off.

“This is urgent. Take us to him.” For once, the messenger sounded urgent, impossible as that seemed. Another moment passed, and then footsteps and hoofbeats moved through the camp together.

From the smell of things, the guards were leading them along the picket lines, although both the smell and sound of horses wasn’t too close. They angled left through the camp, and Londred’s ears caught snapping fires and some strains of fast music, but whenever they approached one of the sounds, the guards quickly angled away. The grain of the cloth over his eyes slowly faded with the daylight.

Suddenly the point was at his chin again. “Dismount.” Londred could feel the point hovering at his neck as he did, and once his feet hit the ground it trickled down his spine. His horse passed in front of him, and the man pushed on the spear to make him move forward. He was in it good and thick now, unless he could find his horse in a camp he hadn’t seen before some Gitani stabbed him. Now, it was down to truly bloody diplomacy, and his reed was thin indeed.

After three steps, the sentry behind him twitched the scarf from his head with the tip of his spear, and Londred blinked even in the dim lamplight. The messenger followed close behind, ducking his head through the entry flap and standing to Londred’s right. “High Chief, this is Londred Thermidor, Second Captain in the Federation Army, here at your request.” The sentries let the tent flap close behind him, shutting out the last rays of sunset, and then their silhouettes receded from the tent walls.

Several fine Tygaran carpets covered the floor of the tent, and Londred’s boots added some fresh mud to the one by the entryway. Gilded figures suspended in the corners held lamp flames up in front of the round mirrors between their wings. In the center of the tent, an older man lounged on a cushioned chair, one hand on a curved wooden arm that stood straight from the chair back. Two other men flanked him, and all three had scars crisscrossing their cheeks and disappearing beneath the hair that curled around their shoulders. The man on the right wore an iron manacle over the stump of his right hand.

“Good evening.” The man in the center rubbed a hand over short gray stubble before he straightened in his chair. Londred decided to kill him first and hope that he wasn’t a decoy. “I trust you had a pleasant journey.” Beside him, Stump Fist grinned, showing only four teeth.

“As expected, sir. I mean no offense to your customs, but I have little love for your plains.”

“Then I hope you won’t take offense at my remaining seated?” Giovanni leaned back in his chair, and his forehead wrinkled slightly as he smiled without showing his teeth. “I have little love for your customary greetings. I will make this brief.”

Any doubts Londred had about the High Chief’s identity vanished as Giovanni pulled a clear crystal from the neck of his dark suede coat. “You are looking for this.” Giovanni bounced the crystal on the end of its golden chain. “I didn’t need this to tell me of your plans, of course. The last man your Federation sent was enough for that. I asked you here hoping that we could both get what we want. You want the Stone, and I want a war.” The other guard joined Stump Fist in a grin; they must have already seen the Stone.

“Your directness is refreshing,” Londred responded, “but you might find a war with the Federation more difficult than you think.” He would have to save the messenger, he could use whatever he used to get in to get them both out of here. Then he could have his fun. “We have left you to yourself on the plains because you have given us no reason to interfere. Why destroy yourselves?”

“Your concern is touching, Captain, but we can take care of ourselves. You could try to take the plains from us, but you would find what it means to fight ghosts in the mists.” Giovanni’s smile remained, but his voice hardened. “I had hoped that we could reach an understanding, Captain. You show some promise, and from what I’ve seen, you have little love of the Federation yourself. How unfortunate that you felt you had to kill my messenger. Perhaps you will tell me which tribe paid you. It might ease your pain before you die.”

Kill his…? Giovanni waved a hand, and two thin rapiers flashed in front of him as his muscle crossed the carpets, still grinning. Stump Fist jabbed his rapier towards Londred’s torso, and Londred twisted aside, taking the other man’s point in his left shoulder as he grasped at his sword hilt.

Giovanni made a bored gesture with his hand. “Normally we burn murderers, but if you confess, I might let Doni and Nicolo make it quick.”

Londred’s saber cleared its sheath, and his opponents backed off, swords held ready. Then the conversation caught up to him. “You.” Londred turned towards the messenger, who had darted back a few steps towards the corner of the tent. Lips twitching, the man raised his arm above his shoulder with something clenched in his fist. Londred cut at the man, but he slithered aside, snapping his arm down and striking Londred’s wrist in the same motion. Londred’s sword dropped from a suddenly numb hand, and he heard a grunt from behind him as he sidestepped and grabbed for his sword.

As he turned, he saw Stump Fist try to grab a dark spot from his leg with his plated stub before the leg gave out and he sprawled to the floor. His friend barely had time to watch before another dart bloomed in his throat, and his sword joined his friend on the floor as his knees buckled. Londred swung his attention to the messenger, just in time to have the man’s boot fill his vision and explode against his head.

Londred pushed himself to his knees, blinking against blurred vision. The iron manacle twitched as the man in front of him gave a final faint convulsion. As Londred straightened, he saw Giovanni sprawled over the body of the other guard, with the false messenger pointing a rapier at his heart and his other fist clenched. “I don’t want to kill you,” the man grated. “I have come for what is mine.” Londred heard a clink of metal on metal, followed by a sharp breath from Giovanni.

“Give it to me,” the assassin said, and motioned with the sword for the man to stand up. With the poisoned dart plain in his left hand, the assassin circled the high chief and slid the chain from over his head. Giovanni’s eyes closed and his fists clenched tightly until the assassin hit him over the back of the head with the sword hilt. Leaving the chief slumped over the body of his guard, he laughed quietly as he held the stone up to the light. His eyes never left the stone, even as Londred straightened.

“I wouldn’t try anything, sir.” The assassin placed the Stone in his pouch and tossed the rapier aside. “After killing all these men, it would be wise not to add the death of another Gitani to your hands.” His lips twitched, and he ducked through the tent flap.

Londred moved to the flap and peered out into the twilight. At a fire twenty paces away, he saw the assassin pause to speak with the sentries. “Do not disturb the High Chief until he finishes negotiating with our visitor. He will send for you when he is ready. For now, show me to my horse, for I have another important message to deliver.” He pulled something small from his bag that reflected gold firelight in the twilight, and the sentries scuttled out of his way.

Londred let the tent flap fall and rubbed at his head. He stalked to the corner where his sword had fallen. His shoulder throbbed as he scooped up his sword and sheathed it, and he clapped a hand over the bleeding hole. Burn that bloody messenger. He paced back across the width of the tent and saw that Giovanni was still breathing, the first piece of good news that evening.

After several minutes of pacing, he heard Giovanni let out a groan. “I’m surprised to see that you’re still here,” the chief moaned, also rubbing at his head.

“I was completely ignorant of everything but your message, sir.” Londred said. “He used both of us to his advantage.”

Giovanni resumed his grim smile. “Well, then I still have someone to burn for my loss, don’t I?” He moved to the tent flap and flicked it open.

“Do you plan on contending with the person who finds the stone?”

Giovanni continued searching the night. “Why would I have to?”

“You could have shouted for help. Your guards were quiet as death. You don’t want anyone to know you have the stone.” Thank the Mediator for that session with Ravel. “Now you have no one you trust to reclaim it. Except me.”

Giovanni raised his head from the tent flap. “And what is there that says I can trust you?”

“I don’t love the Federation enough to burn for it.”

“No one does. But I love the Stone enough that I would.”

Giovanni bent his head to speak with the guard who appeared under the tent flap. After a muted conversation, he let the flap fall. “You have a chance to prove yourself, Captain,” Giovanni said, starting towards him. “Our friend has headed north, which bodes well for me. He knows the other events that have made the plains dangerous for him, information pilfered from the same courier. He will head for the Pass of Ornithon, and try his escape into Kvol.

“Of course, he won’t make it through. He has started far too late into the season, and unless he has hidden preparations, the snows in the high passes will bury him. Hence, your men will form a search party, find him, and return the Stone to the foot of the canyon where I will be waiting.”

Londred scowled. “Why do you suddenly trust us for this?”

Giovanni smiled. “You aren’t prepared for the canyon either. I would suggest that you find him quickly.”

Londred worked to hide his smile as he and Giovanni made their preparations.

royanrannedos @ 2006-03-14T15:35:00

2006-03-14T22:37:09Z

Well, here I am on Spring Break, at work earning money. Wooth. I'm hoping everyone is well, since I have little to say, really.

My Pet

2006-02-14T01:49:55Z